To hell with butterflies
by beamirang
Summary: The were lots of things McCoy expected to encounter during his time with Starfleet. Most had come with their own seminar back at the Academy. Time travel hadn't been one of them. An oversight, if you ask him. An AU in which McCoy goes back in time and manages to make things a whole lot better and a whole lot worse, with plenty of help from a teenage Jim.
1. Chapter 1

I was given a list of tropes I needed to hit if I really wanted to consider myself a true trekkie writer. I've crossed Pon farr off the list. Next up was time travel. Time travel. How?!

Seriously guys, I have no idea what this is, only that it's Bones being a grouchy bastard who tries really hard to do the right thing, and Jim being the adorable and sneaky kid who is totally going to drive him to a nervous breakdown. It's my happy writing place of shameless h/c fluffiness. I'll be coming back and hiding here when work drives me nuts or complicated plotlines threaten to make my brain pop.

Enjoy!

* * *

"Shit! _Shit_! Bones!" He heard Jim's voice a split second before his leg gave out beneath him and looked down in stunned fascination at the arrow that had struck him through his left thigh.

They were supposed to be carrying out routine scientific studies on a planet whose peaceful inhabitants knew of the Federation but had little interest in joining. McCoy wasn't sure how tagging along to keep Jim from driving Spock to distraction while he did scientific type things ended up with him getting shot in the leg, but one minute they're studying an unfortunately shaped piece of fauna while waiting for an ion storm above them to pass and the next it's pandemonium.

McCoy didn't even think they were the targets of the violence, not when both projectiles and phaser fire were darting over their heads with little regard for who they might be hitting.

McCoy went down hard, all feeling in his leg rapidly numbing. At least it didn't hurt, he supposed.

He looked across to where Jim and Spock were pinned just a few feet away. The bodies of two young Ensigns lay between them.

McCoy's fingers curled around his own phaser. He raised it, firing at the figure who had appeared behind Jim. He went down, but the movement cost McCoy his cover, and a second arrow hit him hard in the shoulder.

The force of the impact knocked him back hard, his head hitting compacted earth and his vision dimming.

He was just about able to hear Jim calling his name and Spock ordering their immediate beam up to the ship, ion storm be damned, but as the familiar tug of the transporter pulled him apart at a molecular level, McCoy felt his consciousness flee.

* * *

He didn't wake up in sickbay. That was the first thing he knew, even before he opened his eyes. When he did, the first thing he saw was the fading sunlight through the gaps in a wooden roof. It had been early morning when they had been attacked, which meant he'd been out for some hours.

The second thing he noticed was the distractingly uncomfortable blanket he lay on and the way it made him itch. He was shirtless and one of his pant legs had been cut away just above the entry wound. Both injuries had been wrapped in clean, neat bandages.

On closer inspection, whoever had applied them had done a half way decent job. Spock or Jim, perhaps, given that they were most likely still on the planet and neither side that had been shooting had appeared all that concerned with the preservation of life.

He looked around, his head protesting as he tried to sit upright.

The building he was in looked like it could have been a barn of some kind. Equipment filled out the bulk of the space, but looked rusty and unused. He was laid out on several sacks, another blanket tucked over him to stave away the cold. And it was cold. Freezing, actually. McCoy shivered and reached for one of the sweaters that had been folded up by his side. There was no sign of his uniform, his phaser or his comm.

He'd just about managed to wriggle into the sweater, his bandaged arm throbbing painfully with the effort, when he heard the barn door open from the outside.

McCoy froze, painfully aware that he was unarmed and injured, and not one hundred percent certain that the person entering the barn was friendly.

There wasn't much he could do, though, other than lay there like an idiot, waiting.

It wasn't Jim or Spock who walked through the door though. It wasn't one of figures who had attacked them, either.

The boy who entered the barn couldn't have been more than eleven or twelve years old, his golden hair long and messy and his eyes widening in surprise. McCoy stared at him in shock. The arrows must have been tipped with something. A hallucinogen of some kind. He knew those ludicrously blue eyes, and they sure as hell didn't belong to some slip of a child.

The boy clutched a bowl of broth in his hands, a bottle of water and some towels stuffed between his elbow and his chest. Seeing McCoy awake and coherent stilled him in his steps. He obviously knew McCoy was going to be there, and judging from the bandages might even have been the one to have treated him, but he looked far too frightened for those actions to make sense.

Sensing he was possibly scowling at the kid, Bones tried to look as unintimidating as possible. "Hey." He said, using the soft voice he used with Joanna. "I'm not going to hurt you." The boy blinked at him, clearly assessing how much of a threat he posed, before carefully sneaking forward. "Did you do this?" McCoy asked, indicating his bandaged shoulder. The boy nodded. "Thank you."

Clearly McCoy owed the kid, and it was only that gratitude that stopped him demanding answers. Where was he? Where were Jim and Spock?

The boy shrugged one skinny shoulder and placed the broth and water down close to McCoy's side before scooting back on his heels, well out of reach. McCoy took the spoon with his good hand. "Thank you." He said again, suddenly ravenous. "Do you have a name? I'm-"

"Leonard H. McCoy, M.D. Starfleet Lt. Commander, 9908762." The boy said suddenly, his voice quiet and slightly hoarse, as though he didn't use it very often.

McCoy stared at him, his mouth hanging open. "How did you-?"

"I found your I.D." The child said. "I looked you up. There is no Lt. Commander Leonard H. McCoy in Starfleet."

"Pretty sure there is, kid," McCoy said, taking a spoonful of broth. It was rich and thick, but most importantly it was piping hot.

The kid shook his head. "There isn't. I checked. Which makes you either a spy or a time traveller. I don't mind which. Time travel would be cooler, though." McCoy was surprised by the number of words that came out of the boy, especially when he seemed so shy and skittish.

"I'm not a spy." He said dryly.

"I guessed not. You'b be a pretty bad spy to not even have a proper cover story in place."

"I did get shot." McCoy pointed out in mild disgust at himself. "Twice."

"You bled a lot." The boy nodded. "I've never done stitches before. I don't think they're very neat." He brushed aside that mop of unruly hair and McCoy couldn't help but recognize him. There was something so familiar about the set of his mouth, the hint of strength in his chin…and of course those eyes. If he didn't know better he'd say he was looking at Jim's son.

"You did a pretty good job from where I'm sitting." McCoy praised.

The kid didn't look convinced. "Your fever got pretty bad." He admitted. "I wasn't sure what to do."

That made McCoy frown. "I had a fever?" He asked, and received a nod in return. "How long was I out?"

"Six days." The boy said. "If you didn't wake up today I was gonna take you to a hospital."

McCoy gapped at him. _Six days?_ "Was there anyone else with me?"

"No. Just you." So god alone knew where Jim and Spock were. Maybe they were hurt as well? They would never have just left him behind.

"I don't get it. Why didn't you take me to a hospital?"

"Thought you were dead a first." The boy shrugged again. "You showed up in one of the corn fields with a Fleet I.D that doesn't exist. If you were a spy I might have got you in trouble. You had a phaser." That seemed like very reasonable logic from a child's perspective, McCoy supposed. Still, it was impressive he'd been able to keep McCoy stable in a barn without any medical help.

"So where are we?"

"My uncle's farm." The kid said. "Don't worry, he never comes out here."

"Did he help you?"

"No." He shook his head firmly. "No, he doesn't like people. He wouldn't have helped."

So some scrawny kid had hauled McCoy's ass out of a field and into a barn then played nursemaid for the past week to a grown man who might have posed a real threat to him once he woke up. What kind of lunatic child did something like that?

"Who are you, kid?" McCoy asked in amazement.

"I'm just-"

"_Jimmy! Get your ass in here you little brat!"_ The shout came from some distance away, but the kid shot up in fright.

"I have to go. Drink the water, you need to stay hydrated. Are you warm enough? I can get you more blankets. I'll bring breakfast in the morning. You should try sleep." He fired the mad jumble of words at McCoy as he scrambled to his feet and ran for the door, leaving a stunned McCoy staring after him.

No way. No goddamn way.

This kind of thing did not happen to him.

It happened to Jim. Jim did stupid things like this all the time. It _had_ happened to Spock. McCoy was the sensible, non Voddoo practicing, sane member of their little triad. This kind of thing _did not happen to him._

But even he could put two and two together and come out with four. If it looked like a mini-Jim, thought like a mini-Jim, and did the crazy kind of things he imagined a mini-Jim doing…

Spy or time traveller, wasn't that what the kid had said?

Dear god above, how the hell did he get himself into these things?


	2. Chapter 2

Oh god. I can't even with work! Is it time for another vacation yet? It must be, surely! No? Damn... Okay, have some Bones and mini!jim instead. In terms of updates you'll have another AL tomorrow, and a FS on Friday, then we should get back to our usual schedule of AL until the story is finished. Right now I just wanted cute fluffiness and secretly-a-softie Bones. I'm sure you've all figured by now, but Jim's uncle is a very rude word, and this story will be dealing with child abuse.

* * *

Jim - sweet Jesus on the cross, _Jim_- came back the following morning as promised. He arrived with a plate loaded with toast and jelly, a couple of painkillers and one of the most horrific black eyes McCoy had seen in some time. Given that his Jim seemed to get himself punched in the face at least once a month, McCoy thought that was saying something.

The kid set the plate down next to McCoy and refused to look him in the eye. "Are they healing okay?" He asked, indicating McCoy's bandaged wounds.

"They're fine, kid." McCoy promised. They'd scar pretty badly, but there was no sign of infection, which would have been his primary concern. Despite the difficulties he was sure he'd have caused, he had been well cared for.

"You sure? I can try get some antibiotics from one of the clinics in town." Jim hugged his knees absently, sharp chin resting on folded arms. McCoy saw the edge of a livid bruise peek out from under the sleeve of his shirt and fought the urge to be sick.

He knew about Frank. Probably more than anyone else in the world. It had been a patchwork of comments and observations he had out together, right up until Spock had taken him on a rapid stop tour of Jim's memories as they desperately attempted to to keep him from spiraling out of their reach. So he'd known for years, and he'd relived the memories of it in his dreams for months, but there was something utterly shocking to see the reality of it, live and in the flesh.

Disgust washed over him. He'd spent the whole night working himself up into a panic, wondering how the hell he ended up where he was and what to do about it, when all the while Jim had been alone with that man. That monster.

"You want to tell me how you got that bruise?" He asked conversationally. He knew Jim well enough to know that a direct approach would only be stonewalled.

"I got into a fight." Jim said sullenly. McCoy bristled. He doubted it would have been much of a fight.

"Yeah? What's the other guy look like?" Jim glared at him, somehow managing to fold himself even smaller. "Yeah, that's what I thought."

"I have to go to school." Jim said suddenly, climbing to his feet.

"You should let me take a look at it for you. I'm a doctor." McCoy said, worried now. A bruise like that took some real force, and the kid could have had a concussion for all he knew.

"Thought you were a spy." Jim said, a hint of the attitude McCoy knew so well peeking out from behind that battered facade.

"Time traveller, actually." McCoy's lip twitched into a smile. "Seriously though, you can't go to school like that."

"They won't care." Jim said stubbornly. McCoy gave him what Jim exasperatedly termed 'The Eyebrow' and watched him squirm predictably, "I get into a lot of fights." Jim said with a soft sort of hopelessness that broke McCoy's heart.

"Five minutes," McCoy pleaded, "I owe you for looking after me."

"You don't." Jim said softly, the expression on his face telling McCoy he was already too late to save Jim from the worst of Frank's attention. The desperate need for someone to see the pain he was in that had left him so vulnerable to Kodos's manipulations was already there. McCoy felt the cold wave of panic wash over him when he thought of all the ways it was going to get so, so much worse. How had he not known who this child was right from the very start? Had he not seem him in his Jim so many times?

McCoy held out his hand imploringly, trying to impart as much warmth and safety as he could. He could see Jim hesitate, wanting the comfort but unwilling to trust. He wavered and McCoy hoped he might have given in, but instead Jim spun on his heels and all but ran for the door. "I'll be back this afternoon." He said, fleeing.

McCoy waited until he was gone before swearing loudly.

What was he supposed to do? What _the hell was he supposed to do_? What would Jim do? What would Spock do?

Jim...Jim would tell him to suck it up. That he had to accept the way things were and deal. Jim was a self sacrificing idiot whose sense of self worth and preservation had quite literally been beaten out of him, probably long before he'd ever reached Frank. McCoy had met Jim's mother and her insidious cruelty had done a hell of a lot more damage than she got credit for.

Spock... Spock was more difficult. Logic would tell him to do nothing. Love for Jim would probably have him committing acts of extreme violence. McCoy was genuinely not sure which would have won out. Ambassador Spock, the one from the other other timeline, had already proved incapable of allowing Jim any unnecessary suffering.

None of that really told McCoy what _he_ should do.

He knew what he _wanted_ to do. He wanted to grab Jim and run as far away as he possibly could. He wanted to cloister the boy some place where he was safe and cared for, then work his way through a disturbingly long list of names who deserved to know exactly what it felt like to be small and helpless and at another's mercy.

But if he did that, if he took Jim away and let him grow up without Tarsus or Kodos or the countless betrayals of a legacy he never deserved, would he still grow up to be the man McCoy would follow to hell and back? Would he still be Jim Kirk, Starfleet's youngest captain, deifier of the no win scenario? The ambassador's Jim had known only a fraction of the hardship McCoy's Jim had known. Yes, he'd been on Tarsus, but he'd barely had any contact with Kodos. He'd grown to do exceptional, magnificent things anyway.

But he'd also had a stable childhood. Parents who loved him, a brother who wasn't a raving sociopath and a secure, loving homelife. His innate goodness had been allowed to emerge naturally instead of having to force its way through layers of protective surroundings.

Could McCoy risk that? If Jim wasn't Jim, would he have cheated on the _Maru_? Would he have stood up to Spock and Pike? Would he have saved Earth? Would he have survived Khan? Could McCoy put the lives of billions of people at jeopardy on the off chance that Jim Kirk was a consistent universal force?

Could he live with himself if he did?

Could he live with himself if he _didn't_?

It ultimately came down to one thing: was the suffering of one innocent little boy balanced by the good he was strong enough to do because of it?

Goddamn he needed a drink.

* * *

Jim came back only three hours later. McCoy knew he was out of the loop when it came to the education of small children, but even he knew three hours was hardly a full school day.

He'd spent those three hours alternatively trying to put weight on his injured leg and cursing when he landed flat on his ass.

When Jim returned, he let the kid check and change his bandages, not because he was incapable, though his arm was still incredibly stiff and sore, but because the more time Jim spent in close proximity to him, the faster he would subconsciously understand that McCoy was no threat to him.

His uncle, on the other hand...

"Okay, my turn." McCoy said as Jim tucked away the end of the bandage that circled McCoy's thigh.

Jim's breath caught, but he nodded minutely. McCoy thought he was an old hat at negotiating Jim's often prickly attitude when it came to accepting medical treatment, but while he had no problem bullying a fully grown adult into not being an idiot, he wasn't so keen on doing the same to a child who was slowly starting to trust him.

Without any of his equipment, McCoy had to rely on his own senses to tell him when something was wrong. The heat radiating from Jim's bruised wrist suggested a significant injury, but he was able to move the limb freely. As an adult, Jim's poker face was damn near impenetrable, but the child sat next to him had none of those defenses, leaving his fear and pain plain to see.

McCoy soaked some of the spare bandages in cold water and gently wrapped Jim's wrist, providing support and compression to the swollen limb. He did similar to the black eye, encouraging the boy to keep it cool. The he hesitated. He knew that there was more. He knew it. But when he said, "anything else?" And Jim shook his head, he didn't press. Small steps. "Thank you," he said, "for trusting me," and then he changed the subject. "So, what did you do at school?"

Jim blinked at him in surprise. "Biology."

"Fun?"

"Boring."

McCoy grinned. A bored Jim was a nightmare to handle. "Ahead of the class, are you?"

Jim shrugged. "I guess."

"You want me to teach you some stuff?"

He probably should have led with that. Jim lit up in delight. "Really?"

"Sure. I'm a doctor, remember?"

They passed the next ten hours that way, only pausing for Jim to fetch sandwiches and juice. McCoy had forgotten what it was like to teach someone who genuinely wanted to learn, and Jim soaked up knowledge like a sponge. It was both inspiring and a little terrifying to tell the truth. McCoy would explain a concept, and he'd get it, often leaping ahead to conclusions they had yet to cover, his own mind forging forward and demanding McCoy keep up. They had studied together in the past of course, but usually if one of them had been tutoring the other, it was Jim teaching him. The biggest input McCoy could claim to have had on Jim's Starfleet education was teaching him how to craft a proper essay, because it had been obvious he'd never really done so before.

"That's so weird!" Jim exclaimed, his shyness and timidity having all but vanished the more they got into their discussions.

"Is it? Vulcans are touch telepaths remember. It actually makes sense for them to combine the use of pressure points with psychic techniques." He wasn't sure how they had veered on to the tangent of xenophysiology, but either way Jim was animated and McCoy didn't have to try and move either his arm or leg, both of which were aching fiercely.

"So they can knock you out with one touch?" Jim didn't look too fond of the idea.

McCoy grinned, remembering a time when he'd worn nearly an identical expression and told Spock quite categorically to 'keep his pinchy Vulcan fingers to himself'.

"They call it a nerve pinch." McCoy nodded tiredly.

"That's..."

"Damn annoying?" Unfair? Utterly impractical and really inconvenient?

"Awesome." Jim breathed, looking awestruck. God, he'd love the hobgoblin.

McCoy recalled Sam Kirk expressing how Jim before Kodos had been sweet and shy, afraid of his own shadow, and the brash animation, cockiness and cheer had only been manufactured in the wake of Tarsus. McCoy thought he must have been blind. Yes, Jim was all those things, but that bright spark had always been there, buried under the fear that he would be punished for it.

Eventually though, there could be no putting it off and reluctantly Jim climbed to his feet. "Will you teach me more? Tomorrow?"

McCoy stared at him helplessly, no closer to an answer than he had been that morning. "Sure thing, kiddo."

"I can make pancakes." Jim offered.

"Don't go back inside." McCoy blurted. "We can leave. Right now."

Jim rubbed his eyes with his uninjured hand but he said nothing more than a faintly whispered goodnight, leaving McCoy with his panic, his fear, and no answers at all.


	3. Chapter 3

McCoy makes his decision, Jim is more badass than an eleven year old has any right to be, and Frank is dealt with. As I said in earlier chapters, there will be themes of child abuse running throughout. There will never be anything graphic with Frank, but there are references to sexual as well as physical abuse, so please read with caution.

While things are going to get pretty AU from here on, quite a lot of background info, secondary characters and scenarios are lifted from the main series I'm writing. There probably won't be anything that won't make sense on its own, but everything ties in.

* * *

Pike. He could go to Pike.

And say _"Hi, I'm a friend from the future. I'm going to abduct a child you happen to be pretty fond of because otherwise he's going to have a real shitty life, oh and by the way I need you to stop a genocide, your boss is an evil genius and you're going to die horribly, any questions?"_

Maybe not. McCoy ran his good arm through his hair in despair. He was still no closer to a decision and at this rate he'd dither through another two days trying to decide if he had the balls to screw with history, and if he did, _how exactly_ he went about doing so.

This kind of problem, something so huge and with repercussions that would literally span the Universe, was something he knew he needed Jim and Spock for. The three of them could round out any dilemma and had done numerous times. Often loudly and with a fair amount of swearing, certainly on Jim's part, but when they needed to reach a conclusion to a problem too big for one man alone to handle, they could do it. He needed them now, desperately. Besides, who knew what kind of damage Jim would be causing in McCoy's absence, both to himself and everyone around him. When pushed to the edge by the loss or hurt of someone they loved all three of them had a pretty extreme track record of reactions. McCoy thought he had top spot, what with raising the dead and all and the fact that they could even joke about it now said how far they had all come over the past few years.

If he changed the future…would that friendship change as well? Could he risk that? Could he be selfish enough _not to?_

And hey, maybe he'd actually ended up like the Ambassador and was in a whole new timeline, which meant he could screw around with it as much as he liked…

… probably make things ten times worse, because he was skilled that way…

… and never see his family again.

Time travel – and all it's variables – _sucked_.

Either way, he needed to come to a decision soon. He couldn't stay hidden in Jim's barn forever. He needed to move on, find some answers… a way back home.

The only question was, did he take Jim with him or not?

Kidnapping – and not getting caught – wasn't all that easy. He'd need to get Jim off planet, which would be practically impossible to do with every way in and out of the atmosphere policed and subject to rigorous observation. He'd need Jim to co-operate for one, and I.D. which he had, but apparently wasn't going to be any use.

Jim should be here. This was exactly the kind of highly illegal, hair-brained insanity that he thrived on. He'd skipped the planet at fourteen.

There it was, the one _very _loosely termed 'good thing' Winona and Kodos had taught Jim – how the be a damn fine criminal genius.

He yanked again on his hair in frustration. This was no good. He'd been the damn barn for too long. A man could only stare at the same four walls for so long before his brain turned to mush.

Hauling himself upright and testing the weight on his injured leg, McCoy grit his teeth against the lingering pain and made his first fumbling step towards the barn door.

Just five minutes outside. He'd look at the stars, get some fresh air, clear his head…

It was dark outside, but under the light of millions of stars and a bright full moon, McCoy was clearly able to see the path beneath his feet and the large, awkwardly shaped farmhouse a hundred meters ahead. It almost leaned on one side, clearly not maintained to the highest standard, and the lights inside were all dark.

He wondered which room was Jim's and hoped to god that the darkness inside the house meant that its occupants were sleeping soundly.

Then he wondered which room was Frank's and relayed in his mind all the dozens of ways he could kill a man with no trace left behind.

He'd been staring out the house for several long minutes when one of the windows suddenly lit up with a flare of brilliant red light. It only lasted a second and McCoy stared at it in surprise, trying to think what could have caused it.

Then he remembered.

His phaser.

The one he'd not been able to find since waking up in the barn.

All thoughts of right and wrong, consequence or fate went out the window, along with the pain in his leg as his adrenaline levels spiked and he raced towards the door as fast as he could.

It was a large, old fashioned thing, not electronic, and it opened easily. They were the only house for a good few miles and clearly not worried about crime.

McCoy was fully aware of the fact that he might be about to run into Frank and equally as unconcerned. If he did, McCoy didn't care how big, strong or drunk the man was, he'd go right through him.

With that in mind, and full of fear for Jim, he started calling the boy's name. "Jim! Where are you?"

He didn't get an answer and he wasn't certain he expected one. He tore up the stairs with difficulty, trying to deduce which direction he'd need to take and which level to stop at in order to reach the window he had seen from outside.

When he reached the forth floor he stumbled on to the landing, still calling Jim's name. The window had been on the rear of the building, and he'd taken the stairs facing the front, so he spun on his heels and down the dimly lit corridor until he could see an open door.

He nearly tripped over the body that laid out across the floor of the small room. Since it belonged to a grown man, he pushed aside the fear that it could have been Jim and tried to spot him in the dark room.

He overlooked him at first. There was only a small amount of space between the bed and the far wall – not enough for McCoy to fit in himself, but when he angled himself he was able to see the huddled shadow of a child pressed against the wall.

Jim was shaking so badly the phaser in his hand rattled, but he showed no sign of lowering it and McCoy had no desire to get shot, even if it was set to stun.

Ignoring the pain, he lowered himself to his knees at the foot of the bed and held up his hands in a gesture of peace. "Jim?" He said, "It's me, Leonard."

Jim seemed to be staring right through him, his eyes wide and shocked.

All of his world altering problems had narrowed down to how to coax a scared eleven year old out from behind the bed without getting shot.

"Come on kiddo, it's just me. I'm not going to hurt you Jim, I promise, but you've gotta come out now.

Jim didn't say anything.

McCoy glanced over at Frank and made an estimated guess at how long they had before he came to. Another twenty minutes, perhaps, probably not more.

As he was looking, his eyes narrowed on the man's unfastened belt buckle and McCoy's breath caught in his throat. He looked back at Jim, now more afraid than ever, and made a decision.

"Okay, so we're gonna move the mountain to Mohammed here kid. Don't shoot me, okay?" Of course he didn't get a response, but McCoy put his good shoulder to the bed frame and pushed it as far away from Jim as he could. Given the size of the room it wasn't much, but it was enough for him to crawl in next to Jim and ease the phaser out of his clammy hands. "There we go, easy now."

Jim seemed to finally come out of his stupor and raised his head to look at McCoy from beneath messy blond hair. His bottom lip trembled with the tears that welled up in his eyes.

McCoy couldn't stand it when Jim cried as an adult, few and far between though the occasions had been. They scared and frustrated him and broke his heart in equal measure.

From within that small, pale face, a face that was pretty much the same age as his own daughter, he had no chance. Slowly, gently, he reached over and pulled Jim into his arms.

The boy was tense, trembling limbs for all of thirty seconds before he let out a shuddering breath and buried himself against McCoy's chest. Rubbing his back was an automatic gesture until Jim whimpered in pain. He moved his hands to the boy's hair instead, trying to soothe the fear that was radiating from him in waves.

He pulled Jim practically into his lap and tugged the comforter off the bed to wrap around his shoulders. Jim tensed when McCoy had let go of him but relaxed again as soon as he was back in his embrace. It broke McCoy's heart to know that he'd probably never been comforted like that in his entire life.

They could have stayed that way until morning if it wasn't for Frank. McCoy needed to know what happened and decide what to do.

"Jim? You with me kiddo?" Jim was boneless in his arms and just about managed to nod. "Good boy." McCoy praised. "Jim, what happened?"

The immediate tension that returned made him want to shoot the boy's uncle all over again. "Is…is he dead?" Jim asked hesitantly.

"No. Just stunned." Jim said nothing. McCoy wasn't sure if he hoped for something different or not. "What happened Jim? Did he hurt you?"

It might have been easier if he'd been able to see the boy's face, but there was no extracting Jim from his position and McCoy had no desire to upset him any more than he already was. He'd need to check Jim's back in the not too distant future, and he had a feeling that was going to be distressing enough.

Jim said something that was lost against McCoy's chest. When McCoy prompted him to repeated himself, he was just about able to make out the words, "I didn't want to do it again." McCoy had to bite his lip against the boiling rage that suddenly tore through him but Jim wasn't finished. "He's going to be so mad, he's going to be so mad." There was an edge of growing hysteria to his voice that pushed McCoy into action.

"I promise you he is never coming anywhere near you again. Never. You understand me?" He gently pulled Jim back so he could look him in the eye. "We're leaving, right now."

"But you're still hurt-"

McCoy shook his head. "Jim, I know this is hard for you to understand and believe me, I do not blame you for it. But I'm an adult, and I'm more than capable of looking after myself, alright? My priority right now is looking after _you_." It was obvious from Jim's expression that no, he didn't understand, but that was okay. McCoy would help him with that. "I need you to pack a bag. Grab only what you think you'll need, alright?"

Jim nodded. It sat uncomfortably with McCoy that he responded so quickly to orders, but it was too important they be hasty for him to question it.

"What about…" Jim's eyes darted to Frank before quickly looking away.

"I'll deal with him." McCoy said firmly. "I need you to be quick, okay?"

Jim nodded and rubbed the tears from his face. He was wobbly when he stood, but with some initial support, he quickly found his footing again and moved to do as instructed.

After grabbing a few items from his room, he took off deeper into the house, leaving McCoy alone with Frank.

He could kill him. He _wanted_ to kill him. He'd very nearly done so before. When Frank had been released from prison, McCoy had gone to Iowa with every intention of making sure he'd never hurt anyone again. As it had turned out, he had not been the only one.

But, thinking about the bigger picture as Jim so often demanded he do, McCoy knew it would be hard enough to get Jim some place safe if he was doing it with a murder charge leveled at him.

"You're goddamn lucky I'm stuck back in time, you piece of shit." McCoy growled, hauling Frank on to his front with none too gentle hands. He used the man's own belt to bind his hands behind his back then gagged him with a pair of Jim's socks.

He might not be able to kill Frank, but that sure as hell didn't mean he wanted him raising the alarm any time soon.

Satisfied he wouldn't be going anywhere, McCoy hesitated. He hated, _hated_ that Frank might actually get away with what he'd done. There might be questions asked when he was forced to report Jim missing, but would anyone actually probe into the facts?

McCoy fetched a marker from Jim's desk and kicked Frank back on to his back.

In truth he'd prefer to do something a little more permanent but he didn't have the time.

"Try washing that off, asshole." McCoy spat.

He then pocketed his phaser and met Jim in the hallway. "You got everything?"

Jim nodded. "Yeah."

"Come on then." He'd have to grab fresh bandages from the kitchen, both to replace his own and more importantly deal with any injuries Jim had managed to hide from him. McCoy didn't doubt they were there.

Jim hesitated and McCoy quickly crouched down in front of him. "I know this is scary. You've got no reason to trust me, Jim, but I promise you, right now, that I will never harm you, and I will protect you with my own life."

Knowing Jim as he did, a part of him expected to be pushed away. But then this child had not been betrayed the way he later would be. He'd never trusted Frank in the first place, so wasn't stung by his actions. It was Kodos, and in a way Pike, who had taught Jim how it felt to be let down and betrayed by people he trusted to take care of him.

Now that wouldn't happen. McCoy had no interest at all in letting anyone hurt Jim on his watch.

When Jim nodded hesitantly, he felt the weight lift off his shoulders and smiled.

A part of him was demanding he just call the police, let them arrest Frank and take Jim to the hospital. He had more than enough evidence to claim self defense and he could always say the phaser was Frank's.

But McCoy knew that path, and it was one that led directly to Tarsus IV and the final nails in the coffin of Jim's childhood.

He couldn't allow that to happen. Not now, not after seeing him cry and knowing why.

To hell with the future, and to hell with the consequences. Jim had saved the world enough times: they all owed him.

"Come on then." McCoy held out a hand and smiled at Jim when he grabbed hold of McCoy's fingers.

"Where are we going?" Jim asked as they headed for the stairs.

"Space." McCoy responded vaguely.

Jim nodded. "Do you have a ship?"

"No."

"Are we gonna steal one?"

"Probably."

"Do you _know_ how to steal one?"

"Not a damn clue."

Jim paused on the stairs and made McCoy stumble. He turned back in question and frowned at the look on Jim's face. Eventually he sighed and shook his head, suck a familiar expression of exasperation that McCoy felt his eyes burn. "You really would be a lousy spy." Jim said. "Don't worry, I can look after you, too."


End file.
